Singing of a Gold Raven
by Mr. Ree and Mr. Meenor
Summary: Lala is an Italian immigrant who moved to get a job right before the Great Depression. Kanda Yuu is a successful business man who finds himself in growing trouble. After a series of events, the two cross paths, but problem after problem arises... AU
1. Chapter 1

Title: Singing of a Gold Raven

Author: Mr. Meenor (Editor(s): Mr. Ree)

Rating/Genre/Pairing: T / Historical Fiction / Lala & Kanda Yuu

Synopsis: Lala is an Italian immigrant who moved to America for work just before the Great Depression. Allen Walker, a close friend, offers her a possible life-changing opportunity: a ticket to Boston, Massachusetts, where she can start again as an aspiring musician. However, will her singing be enough to support her in an economy falling to shambles? Perhaps a Kanda Yuu might be part of her answer... (AU)

~O~

1. Crash

October 29th, 1929.

She woke without anyone waking her up, which surprised her. She sat up and stretched, her blonde locks tangled in a mess. Her fingers stretched them to untie the knots, though to no avail. She watched, unblinking, the wall shift from queasiness. She ate something raw accidentally, that was the only explanation she had for the symptom. Her eyes blinked away the morning fog, the sky raining with large pelts of water. They plastered against the window, rapping and tapping as she stepped onto the creaky, cool wooden floor.

Her voice hummed a tune a she stroked the strands of gold with a brush, getting the knots to obey her as she looked about the four corners for clothes. The search turned up a black, frilly dress, but nothing more than that. Everything else belonged in the wash from stains and dirt. The dress fit her as she put it on, looking in the aged mirror and tilting her head. She did not look American, but she believed the dress was as close as she could get.

No one walked outside, and if they did they held umbrellas of solemn colors. She saw once a pink umbrella, sticking out like a cat amongst a group of dogs, in the mesh of browns and blacks. She wanted it badly, though with the little amount of money she had, she could not afford to but anything. Hard times, yes, and she truly knew how hard the times were, considering she barely made enough to get any food or pay the rent.

Wind shuddered the windows.

"Lala," a voice from behind the door said, accompanied by knocking. "Lala, are you awake yet?"

"I am," she replied.

Her name is "Lala." She gave herself that name after her childhood friend, Guzol, called her the fond name. It matched her, or at least so she thought. She left Guzol behind in Italy, as his wish, when she longed to go to America.

The door opened. Her friend, a mister Walker, stood there and smiled at her. His eyes matched the gray sky as his hair matched only the snow that fell in the wintertime. Short for a lad, but representable, nonetheless. He tightened the red ribbon around his collar, making the bow larger and the dangling ends shorter. Dashing and handsome, just as always. "I brought you some breakfast," he offered, placing a tray onto the small nightstand. Coffee steamed out of a glass and toast, buttered, appealed to her senses.

"What about you?"

"Me?" He shook his head, another smile touching his features. "No, no, I'm fine—you eat. I noticed how little you had yesterday."

"You're starving yourself?"

He said nothing, motioning to the food for her to eat. She gave him a wary look, though the greedy (and unwanted) side of herself wanted that precious food more than anything. She took one bite, then another, then another, until she realized all she chewed on was air. The toast vanished within a minute, the coffee drank afterward, she felt grateful for mister Walker. Her stomach filled with appreciation as she glanced at him.

"What about you?" she asked again.

"I told you. I'm fine." He pulled out a deck of cards and shuffled them, a sad smile playing a tune on his face. "I got fired yesterday, however, so I do not know how long I am able to support you, Lala. I am truly sorry."

"You got—? Walker!" She felt herself tear up. "You shouldn't have done that, you shouldn't have! I can fend for myself!"

"I cannot," he said, interrupting her forming argument, "allow a pretty songstress such as yourself starve when I can help you. I cannot even _fathom_ the idea." He walked across the room ans made a seat out of the floor, dealing out the cards. "Do you want to play cards? I'm in the mood for some good-ol' goldfish. Don't you agree?" He handed her a stack of seven cards, motioning her to sit. "My tile company ran out of money to pay people, so they laid off a lot of workers. It seems as if everything is going wrong these days in the stock market."

Wall Street, the infamous street where everything it touched had cash value. Since September, however, the value of everything—companies, precious metals, the works—decreased as unemployment increased. She herself came from South Mater, Italy, for work in America, but obviously she came at the wrong time. Mister Walker, though, supported her as much as he could, along with several others. Kind at heart, he never ceased to amaze her when he helped her. Even now, unemployed and facing chaos, he still managed to smile. "Got any aces?"

She handed him an ace. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. Look around and see if there are any jobs that can hire a great sorter of tiles." He chuckled as he placed the pair onto the floor. "Either that or I can go back into carnival work, though it feels as if it's been awhile. Any two's?"

"No. Go fish. What about playing poker?"

He drew a card. "Well, I thought about that, too, but the people at this rate cannot afford to lose more money to a cheater." He shook his head, putting down a pair of two's onto the floor. "My poker days are over, Lala. What about you?"

"What about me? Any sixes?"

He shook his head. "No, go fish. I mean, I can't see you working at a car manufacturer forever, Lala. You deserve more than that. A whole lot more. You have a beautiful voice, and I believe you should use it. You have a gift no one else has. Any fives?"

"Are you cheating now?" She handed him a five as he grinned. "I suppose I have a gift, yes, but I can't use it. Not now. I sing for free as is. I never dreamed of getting a vinyl made for money."

"Hm. Jack's?"

She handed him a jack. "You think otherwise, don't you?"

"Yes, I do." He smiled reassuringly. "Lala, there's got to be a way to get your voice out there. You ought to be paid for having such talent. You know that."

"Yeah, but..."

"No buts. Ten's?"

"No, go fish."

"My point, Lala," he said as he drew another card, putting the pair of ten's down, "is that you cannot afford to stay here any longer, can you? So why not move elsewhere? Try out someplace new. If you do that, I'll try hard to make sure you have enough to get there, wherever you decide to go. Besides, you came to America for the sake of wanting a job. There are no jobs worth doing here anymore. So go somewhere new."

"I..." The cards slipped out of her hands. "But I don't want to leave you behind, mister Walker. What will happen to you if I leave?"

He rubbed the side of his head, laughing sheepishly. "I'll figure something out. Really, I will."

"I don't believe you."

He nodded. "I could tell. But you have to trust me this time around, Lala, because I already got you a train ticket out of here. Out of this old building, out of the dust, out of the shadows of a car manufacturing plant and into a new light. Please, take the ticket and use your gift." He looked at her pleadingly. "I want for you to live a life without regretting anything by taking every opportunity you get. So, are you going to take it?"

She stared at the cards, diamond-back pattern catching her attention. Mister Walker always had the best-looking cards. Scared, yes, she felt scared. If she left mister Walker behind for a selfish dream, she would know no one, she would know nothing, and she would be all alone. However, with the look of assurance on mister Walker's face, with the smile and the eyes sparkling hope for her while she couldn't muster the energy to even bare teeth or open her eyes wide, she couldn't just say no. She nodded after thinking for a while.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, I'll take it."

"Great." He picked up the cards, shuffling them again. "The train leaves this evening towards a place called 'Boston'. It's a large place, full of people, and the best way to get known. A lot of famous people come from there, or so it seems. It's a ways away, but you should be able to make it there by tomorrow." He stretched, cracking his knuckles and neck while doing so. "I have faith in you, you know, so don't give up now. Everything has just begun. Want me to help you pack?"

Her gaze shifted over to the old leather bag in the corner, empty with no purpose. She never used the thing because she could carry everything she needed by hand. This, however, called for more things to possess, so she picked it up and placed it on the spring-wire mattress. "Yes, thank you."

He stood up.

"Mister Walker..."

"Yes?"

"Uhm." She looked at the floor again before looking at him. "Thank you. Can I please pay you back in a song?"

He nodded. "Of course."

She sat on the spring-wire mattress and clasped her hands together, eyes closing and mouth slowly splitting open, the cracks of her dry lips breaking and bleeding, though she paid no attention to that. Mister Walker sat down beside her, closing his eyes and resting his head on her shoulder, listening to her painfully beautiful melody:

"_Every time there's a goodbye,_

_There's always a new hello,_

_So walk carefully, carefully, through that door,_

_And let no one harm your reborn soul..."_

~O~

The hours ticked by shortly after they finished packing.

The quiet atmosphere, despite the rain, took hold as they enjoyed a cup of tea together in the cramped kitchen. Mister Walker did not say much as he sipped away at the liquid, casually glancing at the clock once or twice. He looked worried, but Lala didn't say anything of it. He would only deny any claims she said, anyways. He did that to not worry her, but he didn't know it worried her more when he said nothing was wrong.

Knocking caught both of their attention. Lala started to get up, but mister Walker motioned for her to stay. The urgency in the knocking made him curious as he opened the door, letting the landlord—an old man by the age of sixty—into the room. He seemed out of breath and impatient to spill out the news, his eyes looking from Lala to mister Walker and back again. "Ye're not gonna believe this," he said, the tension and excitement in his voice. "Ye're not, I tell ye."

Mister Walker helped the landlord sit down at the table before taking a seat himself. "Before that, would you like to have some tea? We have green and black."

"Sure, sure, I'll take black," he said, watching the steaming liquid fill his glass. "So, onto my news. Wall Street crashed today, I tell ye! Crashed like a bird after gettin' hit by a stone. They's a-dubbin' it 'Black Tuesday' it's so bad! Ye shoulda seen the crowd, ye shoulda. Lotsa people gatherin' outside the buildin'."

"You're kidding," Mister Walker said.

"No, no, I tell nothin' but the truth, ye hear?"

"If the market crashed," Lala said, "what does that mean for people like us?"

"Bless yer heart, girl," he said, patting her on the head. "I'm sure ye be fine. If yer not unemployed, yer all set. Otherwise, count yer blessings and pray to God, because I thinks it'll only get worse from here."

She glanced at mister Walker, who said nothing and just stared at his tea. His worried expression wrenched her heart, his downcast eyes making her want to hug the poor boy. At age fifteen, mister Walker had no family, little friends, and now no job. Compared to him, Lala had it easy. The landlord finished his tea and thanked them before going on his way.

Silence engulfed the room.

"Mister—"

"It's alright," he interrupted.

"You're lying. You heard what he said! The stock market crashed, and you have no job! What if this depression lasts for years? You can't possibly survive on your own. I can't leave you behind," she concluded. "I left Guzol behind once, and I feel horrible for doing so, even though he was the one who told me to leave. But I have a chance to help you. So, come with me. Come with me to Boston."

He didn't reply. He finished his tea and made circles around the brim with his pinky, avoiding eye-contact with her. She knew that behavior. It was the "I-need-to-be-here-for-others-who-need-my-help" type of emotion. "I have to stay here," he said. "Unlike you, I have no gift. All I can do is 'be kind.' I have others who need me right now."

"Being kind _is_ a gift, mister Walker."

Mister Walker said nothing as his finger stopped making a ring around the brim of the cup. He relaxed into his chair, resting his hands on his lap, before smiling. "I have a philosophy," he said. "I believe that the more I give, the more I get. However, what I get isn't money. What I crave more than anything is someone's gratitude. I may be unemployed," his smile widened, "but I feel like the richest person in the world. So, please, do not fret about me. I will be fine."

"Mister Walker..."

He looked at his watch, one of the final gifts from his foster father before he died, and looked back to Lala. "It's almost time. I'll walk you to the train station, if you would like."

She nodded, hefting the leather bag and slinging over her shoulder. Mister Walker held the door open for her, locking it behind him, as the two descended the stairs. The landlord, sitting behind a counter and enjoying a book, looked up as she placed her keys onto the table. "I would like to give up my room. I've paid for my rent, and anything left behind you can sell or trash. I'm not coming back for anything. But I would like to thank you for your kind heart in allowing me, with little money, to live here."

"Bless yer heart, girl." He took the keys and hung them up on a rack. "Yer singin' at night made everythin' worth it. I shoulda let ye live here fer free."

She laughed quietly. "Thank you for everything."

The pair left the building, mister Walker opening an umbrella and letting Lala underneath it. The rain drops splattered onto the black canvas, rolling down the wires and dripping onto the ground. Stores began to close, the shopkeepers flipping the signs from "open" to "closed." Few people wandered the streets, most of which had solemn expressions. A homeless man roused from his sleep as the two walked by, glancing at the couple with a hopeful expression on his devilish eyes.

"Keep walking," mister Walker said. "We're being followed."

His grip around her waist tightened as she felt their pace increasing, practically running when they rounded the corner. In a quick motion, he handed her the umbrella, a pair of tickets, and his watch. "Keep it," he said when she started to protest. "I wish you luck on your journey, and I'm sorry I couldn't be there to see you off." His grip lessened as he said lastly, "Remember—everything is going to be all right, no matter where you end up. Send me a letter when you get settled. Now, run!"

He shoved her down the sidewalk as he turned, facing his enemy, who held a pocket knife in his hand. Lala began shouting, but mister Walker yelled, "I said run! I'll fend him off! The train leaves in fifteen minutes! You're almost there! Go, damn it, _go!"_

Mister Walker never swore unless in dire situations. She turned her back to him, hearing a scuffle behind her as she made a mad dash for the train station with the umbrella in her hand, ticket in the other, and mister Walker's watch clasped around her wrist. The station was within sight, but worry seized her as she turned to see what happened to her friend.

She screamed.

Mister Walker laid face-first on the sidewalk, blood dripping down the homeless man's knife. The white-haired boy rose to his knees, coughing, and looked at Lala, who looked back. His mouth sputtered, "Go."

She turned and ran, hearing bits and pieces of her friend's struggle until she made it past the doors of the station. Tears welled in her eyes as she pushed past people in her way, hurrying to the boarding area. A conductor, with the door opened wide, shouted, "Route 36D, straight to Boston! Last call!"

Lala approached the conductor, trying to keep her emotions under control. She showed the ticket with a trembling lower lip, the conductor looking from her to the ticket, and back to her. "Get on in," he said. "It's cold in here. We're serving complimentary hot chocolate, if you would like."

"Thanks," she replied, closing her umbrella and stepping onto the train. Passengers, young and old, sat next to each other as she made her way to—what was this? First class? What was mister Walker thinking? She wished she didn't leave him behind as she found her seat, empty of any other people. She sat down, ignoring the glances of the other passengers, as she curled up in a ball. Another man, with a frown on his face, sat down beside her unwillingly. She only caught a glimpse of his suit—

A finely pressed, black suit with a black tie, accompanied with black trousers and black shoes. If she did not know any better, she assumed he was going to a funeral of sorts, or perhaps he was an important businessman. Either way, she didn't care. Her worry for mister Walker dominated all other thoughts until she realized, crumpled in her hand with the second ticket, was something green.

She stopped squeezing so tightly to see a one hundred dollar bill in her hand.

"Walker..." she breathed, putting the money in her dress pocket with her ticket.

The train began to move, cluttering over the wooden railways sealed with iron bolts.

Lala, unable to bear so much generosity at once, and knowing she left someone that nice behind, began to cry. The man beside her pretended to not notice, only focusing on his priorities.

The rain, like her tears, didn't stop until one minute of midnight.

~O~

This story is based off a history project I did back in eighth grade. I am fond of history, and Lala is such a character that needs more attention, so I decided to fill the gap. Leave a review, an alert or anything if you believe it is worth it. Thank you for reading, and until chapter two, sayanora. —Mr. Meenor


	2. Chapter 2

I would like to start off by saying that all opinions of Kanda Yuu are not my opinions. Just saying that now. Also, I would like to thank those who alerted, reviewed and / or put this story on their favorites. This pairing, obviously, is uncommon. Let's see how it turns out, shall we?

~O~

2. Kanda Yuu

Kanda Yuu refused to waste time.

Every morning, he awoke at five in the morning and enjoyed two cups of tea before doing anything else. Then, he proceeded to take a shower for no more than five minutes, dried himself off, took ten seconds to walk from the shower to his room, and changed into a black suit with a black tie, topped off with black shoes. He ate a piece of toast before reaching for his suitcase, prepared the previous day, and left his house for his two-mile walk towards his company.

When he arrived, every day at eight, he got his schedule from his best friend / worst enemy, Lavi Bookman. The report consisted of meetings, expected market swings, and anything else important pertaining to that specific day. Sometimes Kanda stopped and asked about the weather for the next day, considering how the idiot knew everything better than everyone, and typically he was right (once, however, when he had a headache, he predicted a sunny day for the next day. In truth, it hailed golf balls). Afterward, he secluded himself in his office and typed away at his typewriter or signed his signature for approvals or disapproval.

Lunch time went by quickly. He had a dish of soba noodles for lunch and finished it under ten minutes before going off to his first meeting. All meetings he held was inside the building. Leaving the building to the next in line, in other words, Lavi, was out of the question, especially since the crashing market didn't look promising. He only left once, and, though nothing bad happened, he decided that was the first and last time he took a road trip. No one could convince him otherwise.

After two meetings (talking to so many idiots in one day made him unable to deal with more than two, maybe three of the pointless gatherings), he finished up some reports, started on some new ones, got ideas from fellow co-workers, and dropped off the clipboard at Lavi's desk.

The clipboard symbolized Kanda's end for the day.

Then, he walked the two miles back home, ate dinner, took a bath for no more than half an hour, and started to get ready for the next day. Everything to his actions had purpose. He wanted nothing more than perfect harmony for each day, and wasting a second meant ruining a good day.

People accused him of insanity. Others said he was a workaholic.

Kanda, though, viewed himself smarter than anyone else.

After all, the only thing that mattered in the end was being on top.

~O~

October 27th, 1929.

Lavi stared at his superior with his wide, unblinking eye as the man paced in front of him, enraged. He didn't know what caused it. He didn't even see who that person was that dared to enter Kanda's office, nor did he hear what they talked about, but he never saw Kanda so angry in his life. Worse yet, he had devastating news to tell him that could throw Kanda into utter hatred for the rest of the day. Last time that happened, he found a glass of wine embedded in his right eye.

"Uh, Yuu?"

"Don't you dare."

The man continued to pace until he stopped in front of his desk, the refurnished wood a nice addition to the space. He slammed a fist onto the desk, the papers on top of the desk, and caused the pen on the stack to clatter onto the floor. "What," he muttered, "the hell? How is this happening? How is this happening _now_, of all times?" His permanent frown deepened as he turned to the redhead. "What do you want?"

He shuffled his feet—a habit of his when he became nervous. "Well, I came to tell you about something... not so good."

"Che." He picked up a glass of tea and took a sip, Lavi internally cringing and waiting for the shards to splatter all over his remaining eye. "Nothing about this day is good. What is it?"

"The market is going to crash to its lowest point in two days."

"How sure are you?"

"As positive as a lithium battery placed the right way inside a Rolex watch," he said. "It's pretty bad. Unemployment's gonna sky-rocket. We might have to cut some of our own staff just to stay out of the red area. Man, I can't believe we're gonna be in the red. We've never been there before."

"A lot of places haven't."

He sighed as he sat down in his chair, black like nearly everything else he owned. A groan escaped him while he sipped at his tea, his eyes squeezed shut. He had a headache already, and it wasn't even lunch time yet.

"Yuu... Are you okay?"

"No. No, I'm not okay." He placed the glass down after hearing a small crack. His strength often got the best of him when he got angry. "The company's going to get taken away from me, if I'm not careful. Someone's trying to buy us out."

"_Now_?" He shook his head. "That's impossible, and you know that. With the market in such a state, there's no way—"

"It's the perfect opportunity for bigger, vulture-like companies to take the little remains off a carcass of a smaller business. It's all about making money." He grimaced. "It's all about survival, too, at this rate. And we're not going to make it." He picked up his suitcase and shoved papers and crammed manilla folders into it. "I'm leaving tonight."

"You're what? Wait, on such a short notice? But—"

"If you want a job next week," he whispered harshly, grabbing the redhead by the collar, "I have to leave now. You're a genius, aren't you? You can handle it. Che." He let go of his accountant and hefted up his jacket.

"Who's trying to buy us?" Lavi asked when he managed to calm himself down.

"A car company."

"Wha? Why do they want an insurance company that's locally owned?"

"Money. Why else? I'll see you in a few days."

"Yuu."

The Japanese man stopped. "What?"

"...Take care, okay?"

"Che. What are you, my mother?"

He left his office and the redhead as he pulled out a full-round trip to New York. The trip took longer than by car because of all the stops and the slow pace the train had. Even cars were slow, and the downside to cars was gas. The things guzzled gas like a baby guzzled milk from his or her mother's breast. He never liked New York. They always won the damned World Series.

One of these days, the Red Soxs would win.

_The stock market'll crash in two days, huh? _He chuckled a little. _Those bastards in New York, they won't even know what hit them. I'll make sure they stall their decision for a week so that their final death blow falls swiftly on their heads, and not mine._

~O~

New York City, New York.

A bustling metropolis of utter bullshit, as Kanda liked to say. The rivalry between Massachusetts and the infamous "Big Apple" ran deep for decades, possibly longer. What he hated most was the accents of New York. Why the hell would anyone brag about being from Brooklyn? Who the hell cared? No one, that's who, and New York exemplified that accent like a proud father exemplified his honor-roll student of a daughter to everyone he met.

New York City had massive amounts of people in it. Kanda hated people. Granted, Boston was not much better, but about a four-hour train ride could take any people from Boston to Portland, Maine, to hide away from the big city noises. New York had New Jersey, and New Jersey was the light at the end of the tunnel labeled "HELL" when you died. Nothing good south of Massachusetts was worth mentioning.

And the sidewalks of New York, chock-full of rude people who shoved one another! He couldn't stand such disrespect. Disrespectful people deserved a spot in Dante's Inferno, but that witty bastard would probably disagree with him. Perhaps, even, he might send Kanda down to the last circle of hell where Brutus resided for betraying a friend. He did, after all, make Lavi go blind in one eye. His reasoning was justified, though. No one called him by his first name when he realized that an idea he worked on for ages was doomed to be faulty forever.

No one else understood his logic.

No one ever did.

He glanced at his watch as he stepped out of his hotel the next morning. The overcast sky made for pleasant sight-seeing. He had about half an hour left before meeting with the Board of Executives, and the head of the car company, Malcolm C. Leverrier. He knew of his reputation, the way he manipulated other business's to do his whim, but he refused to allow Leverrier to hold any form of control over him.

He would keep his company until his own death.

He got a cup of coffee from a local business. The sign on the door said it was going out of business, a tale of every small business in the heart of every city. The government had to step in at some point, he figured, and President Coolidge was the one who had to do it, or whoever was running the country.

The front doors of the towering building beckoned him forward. He stared them down as he pushed his way through them, approaching the front desk. A young woman, possibly Chinese, looked up and smiled. Her blotchy eyes told him she either got in a fight or she got bad news, but she smiled at him nonetheless. For whatever reason, she looked awfully familiar. "Hello, can I be of service to you?"

"I am to meet Malcolm Leverrier at 8:30. Is he here?"

A hand grasped him on the shoulder from behind, a tall man standing behind him. Kanda blinked once as the girl behind the counter shrunk a little. Standing behind the man were several others, all dressed in sharp suits that put Kanda to shame. He stood his ground, however, as the man began to spoke, a wry smile on his face.

"I am Leverrier," he said. "And I take it that you are Kanda Yuu, correct? Please, follow me to my office. We have a great deal to talk about. Ah, Lenalee." He smiled at her. The smile made him want to punch the scary fucker into the sun. "About the reports... Could you re-do them? They lack sufficient detail about section six. Thank you. This way, Sir Kanda."

He eyed the girl who sat behind the front counter as he got pushed towards the stairs. She looked back at him with pleading eyes, as if asking him to help her. He continued to stare at her until he walked up the stairs, following the lead of Leverrier and leading the way for his four other associates. They reached, after several flights, the twelfth floor, where only a long hallway carpeted with red awaited them. The doors swung open by two attendants dressed in white, bowing as Leverrier walked by.

Kanda didn't like the situation at all.

"Sit down, if you may." Leverrier sat behind one of five large desks in front of windows that domed up to the ceiling. He spotted a pigeon flying overhead, one of its feathers snapping off and falling onto the slick glass. It slid down the side until the wind picked it up, whisking it away. He focused his attention back onto his hosts as he sat down, prepared for anything. None of them looked pleasant, nor did they look willing to compromise.

"Would you like anything to drink? We have a vast array of tea you could enjoy. Oh! I just happened to make yesterday a pineapple upside-down cake. Would you like a taste?"

"No, thank you."

He shook his head. "Shame, you're really missing out."

Kanda stared at him as a folder thudded onto the table. Some papers nearly escaped, but the weight of the entire stack kept it together. "What's this?"

"I've been keeping track," he replied with a devilish smile, "of your company's assets. You aren't doing so well right now, are you? People are trying to collect as much money as they can from insurance companies like you, from banks and private funds. Well, you're running out of money to pay back to people, aren't you? Houses are foreclosing, and you, you're caught in the middle of it. How much longer do you think you'll last without help, hm? A week? Three? Maybe a month? No longer than two months, I think."

"And what makes you think that?"

"Well, people aren't getting any richer. Who do you think they'll turn to to take out their life insurance? Their parents? Their children? No, they'll be looking to you, my friend. And when you let them down, no one will think twice of returning. What are you going to do when that happens?"

Kanda said nothing. He couldn't determine if the question was rhetorical or not. Deep down, he had no idea what he could do. They were falling into the red, falling like a piano dropped by a crane, doomed to fall upon the little kid playing hopscotch all by himself. He cleared his throat. "I'll see what happens, then start from there. That's what we do."

Leverrier laughed. Chills shuddered up his spine as he gripped the edge of his chair, knuckles turning white from the amount of pressure applied. Something about the man made him feel powerless to stop him, no matter what he did. He wondered if it was the sharply-pressed suit or the bad hair cut. Perhaps, though, it was the amount of affluence the man had, and the way he waved it around like a witch's wand, cursing people wherever he went. "You'll just go from there!" he repeated, wiping a small tear from his eye. "That's the best joke I've heard yet! You couldn't possibly survive."

"Then what do _you _suggest I do?" He didn't want to ask, but he didn't want to hear Leverrier mock him at every opportunity, either.

He stabbed a fork into his cake and chewed thoughtfully. Obviously, he had a plan in his head, but thinking made for innocence. Already having a plan made someone suspicious. He swallowed. "Well," he said, "if I were you, I'd make a temporary contract with another company."

"Temporary."

"Oh, yes. They exist now." He pushed his plate aside, and one of the associates picked it up and left the room. "I'd strike a contract up with a well-off company who's still in the black. For example, we are in the black right now. If you strike up a contract with us, we will maintain your possession of your company until you don't need help anymore. However, it is expected you help us back if we need help. Tit for tat." The creepy smile forged on his face again. "What do you say?"

He stared at the stack of of papers and flipped through them. Indeed, they were detailed reports of his company and the assets it had. In the back, however, it had a report on him. He pulled it out of the stack and frowned. "How did you get all this information?"

"Easy." He smiled. "We asked people."

"Which people?" He paused. "What was his or her name?"

"People."

Kanda frowned as he read through the report. The details within, only one or two people knew, and the information on his abusive side—wait. He read the detail again and his eyebrows furrowed. One person knew of his abusive self, the demon he often hid away. Why would Lavi tell anyone about that, unless of course he got blackmailed. But, how? Lavi manipulated people on a regular basis, that's why Kanda kept him, and he never got manipulated himself. He had no weakness, not one he could think of off the top of his head. His mind reeled, trying not to show his conflicting thoughts inside his brain, until it landed on the girl behind the desk.

"_Yeah, I got a new girlfriend. She's really cute. Her name's Lenalee Lee." He grinned. "Don't give me that look, Yuu. This time, I think I'm really in love. See?" He showed a picture of the girl. "Isn't she adorable? Chinese, I think, but it doesn't matter. I'll bring her up sometime!"_

"...Shit," he muttered.

"What did you say?" Leverrier raised one of his slanted eyebrows.

"Nothing." He put his file back in the folder, eying it. "Nothing at all."

A paper replaced the folder, one with three empty lines at the bottom. He looked at the large letters at the top of the sheet—"CONTRACT."

"If you wish," Leverrier said, "sign at those three spaces."

A pen plopped onto the sheet. Kanda watched it roll towards him before it came to a stop near the edge of the desk. He did this on purpose. He put the folder to show his capabilities. He even managed to get Lavi to talk using a girl. This man was a blackmailer.

He picked up the pen, paused, then slammed it down onto the table, rising from his chair quick enough to topple it over. He stared his host directly in the eye, glaring, as the paper crumpled underneath his hand. "I think," he said, "we're done talking. Thanks for wasting my time."

Leverrier spat on his face, causing Kanda to reel back and glare. He knew not to hit him, or do anything, because then they had something against him. He picked up his suitcase off the floor and turned his back on him. "Che."

"You'll be back," Leverrier called after him, but Kanda didn't look back.

~O~

October 29th, 1929.

As Lavi predicted, the stock market crashed. Kanda didn't pay attention to that as he awaited a train that evening. He decided to go to a more rural route back to Boston. He had enough of New York City and the blackmailing bastards of companies controlling everything. He needed to talk to Lavi. No wonder he was so worried whenever he approached his desk. He wondered if he broke up with the girl named Lenalee. Probably not.

The train arrived, and a small crowd pushed through to board it. He got shoved into the back of the crowd, much to his hatred. Perhaps disrespect was everywhere in New York. He never wanted to come back. He handed his ticket to the conductor and got it hole-punched as he walked through the narrow halls of the locomotive. People crowded the first-class, so he seized the first seat he saw open. It resided between two walls to give privacy. Sitting in the other seat, however, was a dirty-looking girl whose blonde hair sprawled everywhere.

He frowned. Just his luck to sit next to a runaway.

He placed his suitcase underneath his chair, groaning to himself. Some trip that was, nearly getting trapped into a contract. The girl sitting beside him hugged herself and cried, cried quietly. His frown deepened. Just his luck to sit next to the wuss of a runaway.

The train pulled away from the station as it rained buckets. He watched out the window the darkened scenery rush by, his own reflection staring back at him from the lights inside the train. Rain raced down the glass. He looked away after awhile, tired.

The girl continued to cry.

Just his luck to sit next to a whiny, probably loveless and immigrated, probably poor and jobless, probably pathetic and needy, wuss of a runaway.

A runaway that would change his life forever, unbeknownst to him.

~O~

End of chapter 2. Thank you for reading it. If you would like, leave a review, alert, favorite, whatever suits your fancy, and that includes none of the above. After all, this is just an odd love story. Right? Heh... —Mr. Meenor


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